Just One More Moment
by liveandlove1989
Summary: From the Hero of Fereldon to the Inquisition's leader, these short snippets delve into my OC's and their romances/heartbreaks/missions. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Hey guys! Trying something new to help me get back into writing. All of these will be really short moments in my Dragon Age OC's lives. Kinda jumbled, pretty random. But yeah, enjoy!_ ~L&L**

* * *

 **A: Anger**

They'd never seen her as enraged as she was in that moment. Hawke was absolutely _fuming_ , eyes narrowed to slits and hands fisting so surely along the hilts of her daggers it was a miracle she didn't crush them. "Come," she barked, the order clipped. Neither Fenris nor Anders could argue as they left the Qunari corpses and Isabela's hastily scripted note of apology outside that warehouse.

* * *

 **B: Bread**

Alistair couldn't understand, and Brosca was okay with that. She knew he'd lived a life of prosperity compared to her own, knew he'd never known what it was like to go to bed starved because you'd given the only measly morsels you'd acquired to your sibling. She knew these things and never faulted him. Brosca only hoped that he would keep their differences in mind, and not question when she stashed pieces of their nightly meals in the knapsack she never let leave her person.

* * *

 **C: Compound**

The first time she walked through that gate, all eyes were on her and her companions. As if two humans, an elf, and a dwarf were a strange sight among ashen giants. The Arishok she met - who proved that the powder seeking dwarf she'd reluctantly followed truly was full of shit - spoke little. His eyes spoke for him, an angered sea of molten gold. Hawke found she respected him. And that she was ready to murder that would be merchant bastard should he dare show his face again.

* * *

D: Distance

Lavellan had known isolation the majority of her life, and yet she'd never felt more alone and more betrayed than that moment. Standing there, staring at the man she'd thought she could love cower behind bars too cold to touch, she wanted to scream. To murder him for his deception. Blackwall - Ranier - made no motion to stop her as she turned from him. Her silence spoke more than her words ever could.


	2. Chapter 2

**E: Enigma**

Hawke cocked his head, watching with an amused smirk as Merrill flitted about. She was so beautiful, yet so strange to him. An elf, a mage. Both were things he'd been taught to look down upon - even Bethany had been taught separately and less frequently by their father when they began self defense training in their early years. And yet, he couldn't find it in himself to find either woman despicable. Especially not Merrill. He watched as embarrassment colored her cheeks, stood and strode over and snaked his arms around her thin waist. Her lithe form melted against his front, and he knew. With all that they'd lost, she was home to him.

* * *

 **F: Forgive**

His eyes followed her, every movement she made, every time she winced or scowled or heaved. Anders watched and wondered why. Why would a woman like that leave him breathing after the atrocities he'd committed? A templar's sword swept down and Anders yelled and fire erupted from his fingertips. Hawke looked his way as the man fell, sweat and blood matting the blonde of her hair. Her broadsword lowered as their eyes met, and his breathe caught. There, in the blue of her eyes, he saw why. He hated himself for the love she couldn't help but give.

* * *

 **G: Game Night**

The way that Josephine and Varric played, Adaar wasn't so sure Wicked Grace was actually a game. And at the rate she was losing money - and Cullen, his dignity - she wasn't sure it was a good idea to ever participate again. Until Sera got involved. Or, more accurately, managed to get Adaar _less_ involved. Between too many pints and the mingled noise of Cassandra disgustingly grunting and the Iron Bull guffawing, Adaar found the tiny elf in her arms and their only destination being the nearest bed.

* * *

 **H: Hero**

Even when all was said and done and Alastair - _King_ \- gave her the title, it wasn't real. He wouldn't look her in the eye and her people were still doing little for their supposed new paragon. Brosca heard the cheers and smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and pretended. Because it was so much easier than trying to explain why she wished she'd simply sacrificed herself to the arch-demon.


	3. Chapter 3

**I: Icicles**

"Maker!" Trevelyan groaned, rubbing her arms in an attempt to gain some semblance of warmth back. She'd never realized just how much she despised snow until she was surrounded by it. Suddenly a heavy overcoat was draped across her shoulders, and she sighed in relief as the fur lining almost immediately trapped some of her body heat. Cullen smiled as he situated, sitting down along side her, legs freely dangling over the tavern's roof. She leaned against him without prompt, and they shared their silence as the looked out across the whole of Skyhold.

* * *

 **J: Jealous**

She saw the way Alistair looked at his fellow Warden, how Mahariel unknowingly said things that had the man making stupid remarks and funny faces. Leliana was loathe to admit she envied him. Just a touch. The most Mahariel had spoken to her of was the possible stories she possessed, being a minstrel. That wouldn't do, she surmised. Still, she couldn't think of a single thing her and the young elf could possibly have in common.

* * *

 **K: Kittens**

When she laid with him, Hawke found he was so much more open than when they spoke in the depths of his clinic in Darktown. He spoke of his time in the Circle, some of it amusing, all of it intriguing. But it was when Anders brought up Ser Pounce-A-Lot and his adoration of the furry creatures that Hawke took note. A week after his birthday, she left a handcrafted basket - courtesy of her mother - atop his cot in the clinic. Inside were two tiny surprises with ribbons around their necks and eyes designed to melt your heart.

* * *

 **L: Letters**

Leliana remembers crying the first time she sent Mahariel a note. The distance - a physical thing only - had grown between them, and hastily scrawled ink across paper that warped too easily with age was all that remained of her traveling lover. She kept each one Mahariel sent in turn, a growing stack she could look back upon in the moments her heart weighed too heavy. Still, words were a poor substitute for the awaiting warmth of her lover's missing embrace.


	4. Chapter 4

**M: Magister**

Hawke had learned long ago to take Fenris' silence for what it was worth. When he did answer her questions, sharp tongued and reluctant, she felt his pain. It was a physical manifestation, a burden she wished she could unload from his shoulders but was unable to. She knew it was Danarius that affected her ex-lover especially. And it killed her knowing that it was what drove him from her.

* * *

 **N: Nug**

It wasn't that Lavellan disliked the small, furless creatures; on the contrary, they were adorable in their endless curiosity. But it was confusing - perhaps just a shock - to realize the Inquisition's _spymaster_ of all people not only loved them, but had one as a pet. The ravens - understandable. A nug - strange. Still, Lavellan found it amusing when she found the letter referring to one 'Schmooples' and Leliana only rolled her eyes at the elf's laughter.

* * *

 **O: Ostagar**

He swallowed hard, eyes falling to the side as Alistair clenched his fists in abhorrence. Morrigan said something he couldn't quite make out, and Cousland steeled himself. They'd come back, he swore. King Cailan would receive a proper pyre, that was a promise. But first: They'd find his armor. The darkspawn had taken far too much already.

* * *

 **P: Plaything**

Hawke had never minded waking up alone after a night of blurred images and confusion, her sheets smelling very strongly of musk and sex and something unmistakably Isabela. She didn't mind the small scratches or the stiffness in her muscles. She didn't even mind how her favorite scarf seemingly vanished (she'd later discovery - quite smugly - that Isabela had tied it around her upper arm as a sort of trophy). What she minded was that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find it in herself to listen to her own warning. Isabela wasn't the type of woman to stick around. She enjoyed the fun parts and left, and that was it. Hawke knew this. But she still fell too fucking fast, too fucking soon. And frankly, it hurt her a lot more not to love Isabela at all, than be disappointed after each encounter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Q: Qunari**

Sten was... strange. Quiet. Always listening. Mahariel had a weird sort of respect for the ashen giant. She attempted to learn of him, of his people, but he refused her. So she focused on acquiring his trust. His sword, she learned, was as a limb was to her. He needed it if he ever wished to return home. She swore she'd find it, even if she had to scour all of Fereldan to do so. Perhaps then he would accept her.

* * *

 **R: Rain**

Sera's laugh rang out, boisterous and carefree as she dashed about Adaar watched in quiet fascination, confused at the elf's actions. Where she herself was safe in the confines of a dry cave, Sera prattled about beneath the falling rain like a small child. Her tunic clung to her skin, hair mussed and dripping and somehow shaggier than ever. Adaar was certain she'd never seen a more beautiful sight in all her life. But then Sera turned. She turned and outspread her arms and smiled. A blinding, toothy gesture directed at Adaar that had the Tal-Vashoth's throat constricting. 'No,' she silently mused, ' _That_ was the most beautiful sight.'

* * *

 **S: Silence**

A gentle breeze made Lavellan shiver, and even as she pulled her overcoat more securely around herself she sighed in defeat. Below her, Cassandra and Dorian bickered over something faintly sounding like a Templar's purpose as they made their way back to the encampment Scout Harding and her companions had set up nearly two days earlier. And then it was just her and the forest and the branch she rested upon and the quiet. Even the animals seemed hesitant to voice out. Lavellan closed her eyes and leaned back. She tried very, very hard not to focus on the throbbing coming from her clenched, glowing fist.

* * *

 **T: Trust**

When Merrill spoke, it was with her back to him. As if she were afraid of the rejection that surely lived within his eyes as she gave life to a long awaited confession. But he watched her in the hazy mirror that only worked as such, watched the way her brows furrowed and sorrow took life in the confines of her eyes. Her guilt was only outweighed by her determination to make something good out of this thing that had threatened to ruin her life. Hawke couldn't find it in himself to refuse her. So he swore to help. He would take her to Sundermount and they would figure this out. Together. Because Eluvian be damned, he believed her when she said she was doing the right thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**U: Unwelcome**

A white hot flash of pain seeped through her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from yelping. The man that caused that pain - a wimpy human with shaggy hair and dirty clothes - lowered his arm, smirking. "We don't want your kind here, elf." He spit the word at her as if it were the most vulgar of offences. Like simply breathing the term left a sour taste along the tongue. Lavellan lowered her gaze but straightened, anger and indignation threatening to break her resolve. But no, she would not crumble because of this pathetic excuse for a life. Still, she willing turned and left the tavern before anyone else dared to say anything.

* * *

 **V: Valuables**

It wasn't that Aeducan hoarded things. She just... really liked pretty, sparkly items. Jewels and gemstones, things that caught the light and shone. It was almost impossible to part with some of those things. She gave necklaces and bracelets to Morrigan to keep her happy, even handed over a mirror the mage woman claimed reminded her of one she'd lost to her mother years before. The gems she gave to Shale for his... upgrades... had her even more upset. But when Alistair handed over that rose, small and seemingly insignificant, Aeducan realized two things. One, the surface wasn't such an awful place, if things like that grew here. And two, Alistair's love was far more valuable to her than anything else she could possibly find.

* * *

 **W: Window**

For the first fortnight after her lover left, Hawke refused to leave the mansion. She kept a dagger at her hip and threatened the messengers Varric regularly sent. Whenever Bohdan was attempt to speak to her she would warn him that she neither wanted nor needed a butler, and unless he and Sandal wanted to live on the streets he would leave her alone. It was pathetic. But what was even more pathetic was that when Hawke finally took a breath and accepted one of Varric's letter, she snapped. Isabela was back in town without a word to her. Hawke had to replace her bedroom window after she threw her desk chair out of it.

* * *

 **X: Xenophobia**

Adaar knew exactly what it was like to be isolated, mistrusted. Perhaps that was what drew her to the fast talking, flirtatious Tevinter mage. She saw how he received almost as many uneasy glances as she, discomfort drawn from the belief that surely he was no better than the rumors suggested. A blood mage. Adaar could honestly say she didn't care in the slightest. As long as he was okay with her and her Tal-Vashoth upbringing, she was completely fine with whatever land he haled from.


	7. Chapter 7

**Y: Yearning**

It wasn't hard to get away with staring. Alistair was oblivious to most things, Brosca had discovered, and she was okay with that. For now. So she watched him and waited and wondered if he would ever dare to look at her the same way she looked at him.

* * *

 **Z: Zero**

Hawke swallowed hard, watching the muscles in Fenris' throat bunch as he locked his jaw. His eyes remained glued to the page before him, however his hand shot out to grab at her wrist. Hawke didn't flinch. Instead, she reached with her free hand to smooth the furrows along his brow, smiling in reassurance when he finally glanced up and their eyes met. He grunted, a noise she had grown oddly accustomed to throughout these reading sessions. He grunted and she chuckled and her eyes fell to the page, to the word his finger rested above. "Zero," she read quietly. His sigh was heavy and when he made to pull away she leaned forward swiftly and captured his lips. Soft, slow, delicate. She felt how he melted at her touch. When she pulled back, Hawke winked somewhat playfully and motioned back to the book. There would be no more arguing from this point onward.


End file.
